


The Best of the Achaeans

by Delacroix



Category: The Iliad - Homer, Voltron: Legendary Defender, voltron au - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delacroix/pseuds/Delacroix
Summary: The story of Patroclus and Achilles became legend with Homer's Iliad. But in the Greek camp, theirs was not an uncommon love. Lysandros and Alexis arrive to Troy in the tenth year of war expecting glory, only to be faced with the unglamourous reality of the Trojan war. The battle retains little of the epicness of the tales.Yet among the Achaeans they find an opportunity if not of fame, of freedom and understanding.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Best of the Achaeans

We arrive to Ilion on the tenth year of war. Even before we disembark, soldiers are distraught by the sight of the intact city walls. Alexis and I look at each other. This is not the state of affairs that was transmitted to us when we enlisted. On the beach we are received by the Myrmidons and their head. Achilles, son of Thetis. _Aristos Achaion._ The best of the Achaeans. Our mouths round and eyes widen with the sight of his golden hair. His face inspects us like fierce lances and we know to be found wanting. He stands before me.

“You are thin,” he tells me and walks away disappointed.

“You shall not find finer archer,” spurts Alexis. That hothead. Achilles turns back and looks for the insolent lips.

“I shall not? You seem to be very sure about this. What name do they call you.”

The soldiers open up a path for my friend to walk to my side. “Alexis,” he answers. 

“What proof do you have to support this bold claim of yours.”

“His ancestors. Lysandros descends from Apollo himself.”

I know then that once again his rage has overcome him. Apollo supports the Trojan faction as Paris’ protector. Kinship with Phoebus may not count in my favour in this war and the sudden tension on his shoulders lets me know he is aware of his mistake,

“An even bolder claim! I hope you are as brave with your sword as you are with your words. And hopefully wiser.”

From the corner of the eye, I see how he puts a hand on Alexis’ shoulder, that relaxes under his touch. Then he turns to me.

”Lysandros. I see that unlike your friend here, you are a man of few words.”

“I prefer to let my arrows speak for me.”

“I applaud your enthusiasm my friend, but Troy won’t be taken with arrows alone. What is your solution for close range enemies.”

“A shield to the head and a knife to the heart,” I answer.

This makes him smile.

“What do you think, Patroclus. Should we take him?” Besides him stands Patroclus, our general’s sworn companion. His dark skin contrasts with his friend’s fairness in a way that reminds me of my own contrast with Alexis.

“I think we will need a good archer if Paris keeps fighting from the top of the walls.”

Achilles bursts into laughter and gently pats Patroclus’ back.

“So be it. Welcome Lysandros. And Alexis. I wouldn’t want to make you part ways with such a faithful companion.”

When they leave, I can finally breathe.

***

“You are deranged,” I complain once we are set in our tent. Achilles’ approval has granted us a rise in rank. We are now Myrmidons under his orders.

“I was not going to let him speak to you that way. I don’t care how godly he is, he has no right to disrespect you.”

“You told the best warrior in the Greek army that I was the best archer. Do you know that Philoctetes is here? With Herakles’ bow?”

“A good bow does not make a good archer. You are better”

I smile fondly at his blind faith in me. We were taught that only gods should be the recipients of such faith, but we are prone to blasphemy when we are in each other’s presence. I hold his face between my palms and caress the scar that crosses his cheek down to the neck.

“My dearest fool.”

I kiss him toughly, our lips so close we cannot breathe.

“You sounded so heroic, my love.”

“Did I? I was so nervous. He seemed more than the legend told” I say, dropping dead in the pallet.

“I suppose he is handsome after all.”

Alexis sits beside me, his head turned away. Childishness is not a behaviour that is generally appreciated in adults, much less in soldiers. Yet a part of me loves this part of him. It is these acts of childishness that confirm the existence of that humanity that is supposed to be left behind in the path of the warrior. How could we not, when we are emulating Ares and Athena themselves? But these gods live for war and war only. And while I wish to visit places that can only be reached through the sword and the shield, I do not wish my life to revolve around war. Not like Achilles’ does. People love Achilles because of a godliness that makes him deathly in a way that only demigods can be. But I love Alexis because he is mortal, because though he can be strong and deathly he has not lost himself in the blood of his enemies yet. Hopefully, he will never be as godly as the son of Peleus and I will not see my love destroy the part of himself that I so cherish to be like him. 

“Don’t be jealous. It is not because of his appearance,” I say, hiding my face in the curve of his stomach. “I was afraid he would tear us apart. I couldn’t bear to leave you on your own on the battlefield.”

He caresses my hair and kisses my temple.

“I was just being stupid really. I know you don’t care much for him.”

“Then why do you doubt?”

“It’s just, I can never be him.”

In a tiny corner of his eyes, I see despair and disappointment spreading. Before he loses his light, I sit up and make him face me, our noses so close they brush against each other whenever we breathe.

“As it should be, my love. I know you want to be a great warrior, but that doesn’t mean you have to be him. Look at all his one-sided killing. Where is the bravery in overcoming the inferiors? Where is the bravery in going into battle when you know you will leave from it untouched? Achilles may be the best of the Greeks, but he does not bring his weaknesses to the battlefield like the rest of us. He leaves them back in camp, where they will be safe.”

Alexis looks at me sweetly and carries my head to his breast. He lulls me with a little song and his heartbeat, his lips pressed against my crown in an endless kiss.

“I wish I could do that too,” he says.

“Me too,” I answer, kissing his arm.

“Maybe we are jealous.”

“Yes. Maybe we are.”

***

We do not face the Trojans as often as I expected. More than in the battlefield, the Greeks seem to have spent the last ten years in their camp that has been nostalgically fashioned to fit the structure of the cities at home. At night we gather in the agora where the priest offers libations to the gods. When he asks Eileithyia to protect the women at camp that are expecting or close to childbirth, I close my eyes and pray. Then we sit around the fire in small groups and listen to the tales of old warriors. Alexis’ eyes glimmer with Philoctetes’ account of Herakles death, how he built his own funeral pyre as he was dying from the hydra’s poison and ascended to Olympus by the grace of Zeus. I myself prefer Odysseus’ tale of how he discovered Achilles in Scyros. It paints a different picture of the legendary hero. Vulnerable, scared, almost human.

After they are full with stories and wine, soldiers start to retire. We walk back with Patroclus and Achilles, whose tent is close to ours. Alexis is walking side by side with the son of Peleus, arms around each other’s shoulder, laughing and probably drunk. I walk with Patroclus, both smiling at the buffoonery of once deathly warriors.

“You seem to enjoy Odysseus’ stories,” he asked me.

“I do. Did it really happen as he told it? In Scyros?”

“Yes, it did. I was there.”

“I’m glad. He sounded so human. You see, I have been raised on tales of the glorious Achilles. I thought he was a god and that worried me.”

“Why is it that? Gods protect us.”

“Do they? Have you ever been protected by a god? Because I haven’t. No. The way I see it, the gods give us a lot less than they take. In the end, we are just pawns to them. Even all this is just a result of their quarrels. Don’t misunderstand me, I admire the gods. I just wished sometimes they realised we exist. We may be inferior and powerless but we are not that different. Doesn’t Agamemnon look like proud Zeus to you? Doesn’t Paris resemble the beautiful Apollo? How is the cunning Odysseus different from Athena? In the end, what does immortality change in the essence of a creature?”

Patroclus looks at me stunned.

“Sorry. I drank too much.”

“No. Don’t be sorry,” he takes a deep breath and looks up, to the infinite. “I believe the same. And like you, I am glad my Achilles is not as godly as they paint him.”

We smile at each other. After we say goodbye I feel a sharp stab between my eyes, as if I had been shot by an arrow. I squint and wait some minutes before I go to meet my love inside our tent.

***

Eros has taken his hold on Alexis tonight. I wonder whether it is Achilles’ words of praise that have inflamed his sense of self-worth or if he is just too used to having me whenever we have a chance of privacy. During some minutes we are just sighs and gasps, two bodies caressing each other. And then comes the calmness, one above the other, as if we were sinking in each other’s skin. When we finish he immediately falls asleep with his head on my shoulder. For a moment, I allow myself to hide in his beauty, in the refuge of his pale skin. Then I cover his nakedness and go out of the tent to bathe in the fresh air. Achilles is there.

“You have been fighting well, Lysandros.”

“I am honoured by your words, my general.”

“Although perhaps your weapon is not the best. Maybe Philoctetes will give you Herakles’ bow once the war is over,” he comments while approaching me.

“He’d be a fool to ever part ways with such a relic. I know I wouldn’t.”

Achilles laughs. These days it is difficult to determine who is laughing and smiling, and who is fiercely slaying Trojans by the hundreds. Perhaps this duality is just another extension of his semidivinity: god during the day, human at night.

“I saw you praying to Eileithyia tonight,” he says. “Do you expect a child?”

“Yes. I left a pregnant wife behind. Apollo has sent me a vision tonight. The baby was delivered safely.”

“You must be happy then.”

“Not really. I am glad they are both alive, but our union is meaningless. Our families expected certain things from us and so I married and bedded her to satisfy them. Now we both have to live with someone we don’t love and a child we do not feel our own. In the end, we have been ruined by expectations. ”

“Yes. I understand it can often happen so. I have a son too. Neoptolemus. Soon he will bear my name, perhaps he already does. But I do not feel him mine. I did not wish for him, but like you I was forced to. I do not abhor him, but he is just a painful reminder of my helplessness. Whether gods or mortals, we are all tools for an end and what we want and desire is of little consequence.”

***

The beginning of our downfall bears the name of Chryseis. I look at Patroclus in horror when Agamemnon claims her for himself.

“You have to stop him. Apollo will destroy us,” I urge both of them.

They nod and rush to talk to the son of Atreus.

“Don’t worry my love,” Alexis whispers in my ear. “Agamemnon knows he cannot win the war without Achilles.”

“Yes, he does. That is what concerns me.”

***

When Briseis is taken away and Achilles refuses to fight, I can hardly condemn him. Even as each king has more dead soldiers at their feet than alive before them, I do not hope my general to take up arms. My love is tortured by the screaming deaths of the soldiers that arrived to the beach with us months ago. He tries to shut them down by going into battle, but I stop him once and once again. Though heart aches for my fallen brethren too, I shall not send Alexis to a war he cannot win. There is no chance of victory without _Aristos Achaion._

“We can convince him,” Alexis insists.

“No, we cannot. If even Patroclus has failed, none of us can ever make him change his mind. It is his godly nature. Gods don’t just change their minds unless they are given what they want,” I retort.

One day I come to his tent to find Patroclus dressed in Achilles’ armour.

“Perfect moment. Lysandros. You shall accompany Patroclus in the carriage,” he tells me.

“I’m afraid that might be too much weight. We would tumble easily,” Patroclus objects.

“I don’t care. I will not have you go into the battlefield unprotected.”

“We will be fine,” I spurt before they have a chance to start arguing. “I’m thin.”

Achilles smiles. When he extends his arm to me, I can see it is trembling a little bit, almost imperceptibly. Fear.

***

Often I try to remember what happened that day outside the walls of Troy, but I cannot seem to elaborate a coherent narrative. I remember the caresses of my love, the gentle kisses in every spot of skin left naked by armour. The contrast of my darkness with his fairness. His breath on mine as we call each other’s name and make promises. Then I remember the grace of Patroclus, tearing down the Trojan army with his spears with a precision that made me believe for a second that he had been possessed by Apollo himself. His stern voice, more fitting to the deathly Achilles than the healing Patroclus. I remember the dread I felt when we left the beach contradicting our general’s orders and the impending sense of doom. Not mine, but Patroclus’. Before we know it, the carriage is torn down by Sarpedon and I land head first. Seconds before we are sent flying, I meet Patroclus’ eyes and I see he knows this to be his death. In the curves of his skin I see the weight of his hubris.

***

When I wake the battle is over. Greeks rush for coverage and Patroclus’ corpse is being protected by Menelaus and Odysseus at the base of the walls. I am being crushed by a corpse, Alexis’ corpse. I call his name, softly first, in disbelief. Then I scream for him till my throat rips, once and once again. My _philtatos_. Most beloved. In the end my cry is just the unintelligible sound of a wounded animal. I refuse to move, pressing his body against mine as if I could infuse him with my life. Ajax himself has to drag both of us back to the camp. Sitting on the floor with Alexis’ body still clutched between my arms, I see Achilles tear down his hair. His grief overwhelms the camp and we all feel the shame of having failed our greatest hero.

***

It is told that the funeral games for Patroclus are splendid, but I am not there to witness them. I burn Alexis before they can take him away from me. As I hug the black urn that contains his ashes, Agamemnon sends me to deliver a message. He wants an audience with Achilles. I tell him I am not his to order, but go to visit his tent anyway. I deliver the message, not even bothering to present myself. But as I am already leaving, Achilles unexpectedly pronounces words different from his beloved’s name for the first time since his death.

“I heard your cry from the camp. I knew something must have happened.”

“I failed to protect him. Both of them,” I admit morosely, his back still turned to me.

“I understand your pain for Alexis’ death. As for Patroclus, the task was not yours to fail.”

I nod in understanding.

“I have a petition, my general,” I ask. “I wish to be buried with my companion, Alexis.”

“I may not live to see your request fulfilled, son of Apollo. Hopefully my life will be brief and you will live more than I do. Then it will be your duty to see that my will is respected after death.”

“So be it.” I turn my back to him, to leave him to his mourning. But before I disappear outside the tent, I confess I do not think I will outlive him. “I am not meant to stay on this world without Alexis. Wherever my love goes, I shall follow in less than two days.”

“Then you have been blessed by the gods, Lysandros.”

***

I perish the day Hector is slain by the swift Achilles. Tied to my back I carry Alexis’ shield, a meagre protection compared to my beloved’s strong arm. Yet it is this remnant of him that saves me from death multiple times. The wood is pierced by Trojan arrows but does not break. Like him, it endures. In the end it is an arrow to the stomach that marks the end of my life. I wonder whether this is the definite sign of Apollo’s favour, who is no stranger to the pain of separated lovers.

Even as I bleed to death, the sharp edge tearing me from the inside, I continue to protect my general. Achilles must make his way to Priam’s son and fulfil his revenge. Only when Hector lies dead at his feet will he be sure of his _nostos_ , not to Phthia to the house of Peleus, but to Patroclus. I know my assistance to be worthless, for the hero does not require the hand of a mere mortal. Fate is on his side and that is enough. It is sympathy moves me to make sure he does not stay on this earth for too long. As Achilles jumps over the river Scamander, I fall to the ground. Hector is done for. Even the gods cannot protect him from his fate.

***

At his return, the best of the Achaeans drags the Trojan prince’s corpse. He stops for a second to contemplate my fallen figure and smiles sadly. The mourning hero orders a nearby Myrmidon to bring me back to the Greek camp, where Briseis cleans my body. I am quickly burned and buried in a tomb with Alexis’ ashes, our names engraved on a stone next to each other. We lie together in a small hill that watches the sea.

Soon I find myself among the shades, my beloved’s hand in mine. Alexis’ wishes to run for Elysium at once but I beg him to delay our departure. He nods understandingly and we wait to discover the fate of our generals.

***

At first Achilles arrives by himself, his eyes empty without Patroclus’ company. His golden hair flows softly with the airs of the Hades but has turned white, deprived of its life.

“Pelides, come with us to Elysium”, I ask him, but I know there is no paradise big enough to make up for his companion’s absence. I cry with him and kiss his feet, but he does not respond. _Aristos Achaion_ is no more.

***

Elysium is as the legends promised. Alexis spars with the greatest heroes of our myths and I shoot with Herakles’ bow. We chase each other to the confines of the island and then we lie on the grass with our faces bathed by sunlight and our bodies intermingled like Athena’s weaving. We are free and happy, but filled with remorse for the unfortunate warrior we left behind. Some nights I wake up covered in tears and cannot stop until Alexis holds me and presses his forehead against mine. He senses the melancholy that stems from my empathy and wonders whether we could appeal to the gods. But I know it to be pointless. Fate cannot be changed.

***

At nightfall I stand at the edge of paradise, looking at the Hades that smokes in the distance. I back away from the setting sun but dusk is unexpectedly blessed with a second daybreak. In the lands beyond Elysium a golden light blinds the Underworld. I look for Alexis, who is already running to stand beside me. We cry in happiness and rush to the coast to welcome the heroes that share our fate. When we arrive, Achilles and Patroclus are already there, brought by the quick feet of the best of the Achaeans.


End file.
